


one bite, and you're hooked

by airiwrites



Category: Kill the Joker: Survival Game
Genre: Demon AU, IT'S GAY, Multi, magic school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airiwrites/pseuds/airiwrites
Summary: Arata Shoto is the fledgling student of his grade at Hope's Regalia, an academy for up and coming magi.One night, at the suggestion of his friend (who may or may not be a cultist, he thinks), he decides to do a bit of summoning.Karmically, it all goes wrong.





	one bite, and you're hooked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galakei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galakei/gifts).



> wyn won't make romeotag canon os i

Arata wondered for a moment exactly how old this tome was- the pages crinkled and buckled at the worst places, showing off the deep yellow stains of time that made the words somewhat illegible. That is, what wasn’t chewed by some milkworm or torn by a careless reader. A few of the edges seemed burnt to boot. If Arata Shoto wasn’t naive enough to trust any old book Bled threw his way from her library of what was undoubtedly written by cultists, and desperate for another pair of hands to complete this alchemy assignment, he’d have just nervously accepted it and then shoved it deep in one of his dorm’s drawers where whatever dark juju that dripped from it couldn’t see the light of day.

But of course, he couldn’t risk coming into class the next morning with a middling, watery tonic in the wake of everyone else’s perfectly stable potion sets. It’s not that he was by any means an overachiever, but there was a certain amount of shame to be had in turning in something so. . . sad to look at. The worst part would be the dismissive looks he’d get by anyone who saw- the acceptance of mediocrity by his instructor, and worst of all, the feeling of lagging behind the rest of the class. He’d think of King, who could naturally bring pink wisps and sparks to his fingertips, or Killer, who despite her positive attitude, outclassed Arata’s abilities by leagues. It would be the ‘you’ll get it next time’s, the feeling of being patronized. He knew his friends were only trying to be supportive, but it always seethed under his skin, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. An unforgettable reality that stood behind him at all hours.

Arata Shoto was not born with magic.

He was the only unremarkable magi in training in his entire grade, and as far as he was concerned, the only one in the entire academy. Something like this should have been easy for anyone who had honed magic since birth- it was supposed to be a set of tonics, 6 in total, each meant to serve as various cures to common ailments of varying intensities. One would diminish the chills, the others fevers, coughs, sore throats, et cetera. Although the actual construction of the potions were rather simple (Arata had remembered the recipe from his class notes), there was one aspect that he couldn’t quite grasp. The ingredients themselves held certain magical properties, but were inert without an activation charge- a specific frequency of magic that would start a chain reaction between them.

Because of his problem of normalcy, it was impossible for him to conduct such a charge without a mantle to channel through- a wand, staff, any object previously crafted as a channel of power. Mantles were the only way that those without a natural attunement for conducting magic through their souls could produce an effect. Arata’s wand, a simple mantle, however, could not exert the weak frequency- it was outside of its designated range. Upon asking his alchemy teacher for an alternative assignment, he was met with only one assertion.

‘If you really want to be a magi, you can’t let things like this hold you back.’

Arata supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything different. He was put with the brightest young magis across the world at Hope’s Regalia, so he ought to be treated like one by the staff. Each charge was too strong from his mantle, and the potion would stir into a blackened, goopy mess that smelled of tar. Spring had offered to simply lend Arata a second batch that she made so he could pass, but he refused, both on principle of having to rely on someone else to do what he should as an in training magi already be capable of, and the idea that Rabbit would take the entire exchange in the wrong direction and accuse him of extortion. Which would be really, really, really bad, considering that Rabbit could probably punch through a sheet of metal without even using magic. Anyone who would want the target of that punch to be any part of their body is probably a freaky masochist. Arata Shoto is not a freaky masochist. Probably.

So then, the only way he could circumvent this rather annoying problem, as suggested by perhaps the only person in their grade with powers that trump even King, is to summon a familiar that could naturally produce a weaker charge. Arata would say he treasured Bled as a good friend, but greatly feared her interest in strange occult books with dubious origins. That’s what keeps Arata a bit on edge. It really sounds like some cult trick, but it made her happy. What right did he have to bother that? So here he is, drawing a circle on the ground in soot and pomegranate seeds on the wood flooring of his rather cramped dorm room. Bled had instructed him that there was a lesser familiar he could very easily control on page 265. Which would have been great advice, had most of the page numbers been intact, or most of the words been intact, or if it didn’t reek of something that smelled really ominous. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Arata had readied Bled’s special charm in his mantle- supposedly, it could contain even greater demons from wreaking havoc. SImultaneously, as he drew each symbol in the arrangement in front of him, he’d imagine that such a statement means Bled had previously tested the thing on greater demons. Perhaps Bled was even more naive than he was. But then again, whose the one scratching weird symbols on the floor? Arata is. The young magi even gets some soot on his face during the set up. God damn it. He’d have to wash this off later. What time was it even? Arata looks over to the clock- his hand slips in the drawing of the circle, changing the symbols in the floor a bit. Two AM?!? Oh geez, he’s going to be exhausted in the morning. His drawing hastens a bit, making the pattern sloppier, contorting a bit.

It takes about half an hour before he draws a satisfactory summoning circle- and just soon enough. He puts the beakers for the potions neatly in line on his desk. Hopefully, this spirit will simply do what he asks and then allow him to rest. Bled make sure to emphasize the importance of having satisfactory offerings for when familiars are summoned, or risk ill effects. There’s a bag of various candies in his pocket- apparently, sweetness was not a naturally flavor in whatever realm these familiars came from. He again, assumes Bled knows that because she’s tried it before. He’ll really have to get her into a new hobby. There has to be something she’d like that’s less dangerous, right?

He shakes his head, and a bit of soot goes in the air. Now now, he still has a project to do. According to Bled, this ought to summon a small, wispy sort of familiar. All he’d need to do is aim the charm, and he could prevent the thing from getting loose and doing whatever it is that demons like to do. The more he thought about it, the more this seemed like a dreadful plan. He trusted his friend, of course, and he also knew he had very little of an alternative. Asking someone else would just prove everyone right. With the circle completed, all he needed was the components to charge the thing.

He stretches out his wrist with wand in hand, pricking his other arm with the tip and letting go a drop of blood in the center. He sucks on it a bit to keep the slight sting at bay, before putting the skin of the pomegranate he carved over the droplet. The last part of the summoning rite was obscured ever so slightly, like the very words had been taken from a scrabble kit of letters, thrown around, and then jumbled until it looked right enough. Just a charge of magic, it seemed, from a wizard would make everything right. Arata could only think of tucking the potions away in his bag and jumping into the fluffy comforts of his duvet after this ordeal. Like plugging in a lamp, he puts the tip of his mantle on the edge of the circle with a bit of power stored in it, and the whole thing pulses once- a current ripples through, turning the grey and red into a noxious sort of pink hue. The skins and blood melt into some soupy liquid that fills the gaps between the lines, and Arata is filled with some sort of awe just watching it happen. He’d equate it to fancy fireworks, right on the floor. It glows, and glows, and keeps on glowing. The mage takes a step back.

A bit of black smoke billows for the center- it looks like the familiar is coming through. He readies his wand with the charm- the emblem is a bifurcated red and blue, Bled’s own personal signature to the base alterations of what he knows is a decently hefty Dominate spell, or some spell from that family. He’d have to repay her later- maybe he could buy her lunch some time? He thinks to his wallet for a moment. Maybe. . . somewhere not very expensive. The smoke twirls a bit, and his attention is refocused. That must be the wisp, he thinks. He gets ready to fire once it’s materialized. 

But it doesn’t stop there, he notices.

More smoke billows out, and from the center of the ring, an oozing, bubbling, black liquid, like hot tar, thrums out of the center like a fountainhead. He’s not an expert on summoning, but the hollowness in his chest comes anyways. He takes an extra step back, but smoke coats the roof of his room, and the liquid bubbles past the soles of his feet. There’s an attempt to step back, but the soup effectively glues him to that spot. His face contorts with fear, realizing the whole truth of what’s about to happen. The entire room is as dark as night, wrapping around Arata, packaging him in inky blackness. The glow of the circle is the only thing communicating some dimension and scope of the room, convincing him he hasn’t been erased from existence already. 

It happens in an instant. The swirling takes some shape, like a thin outline, blocking a bit of the circle’s light. There’s a single slit, bright white, like an eye, that opens up at him. It comes closer. With the fraction of a second, he can feel it pressing on his face. It’s some strange sort of weight, staring right at him. Arata would have screamed, but the mist had flattened around him, inching up to hold over his mouth, and the liquid had crept up his legs like cement. The eye moves. The darkness is pressing, pressing and squeezing- his throat, his head, his limbs, compressing him, nailing him in place.

A searing pain in his shoulder.

With whatever control of his hand he has left, he fires.

Arata blacks out.

-

He does, in fact, wake up.

Arata’s head is nothing short of groggy- like the weight of the night was still keeping him down. When he would gain a bit of a clearer head, he would realize that it was indeed still night. The clock whispered that he’d only been asleep for an hour, right on the floor. He wasn’t late for his classes- that was a relief.

Then, the pain. Oh god, the pain. His shoulder felt like it was knotted to hell and back, and the distinct irony smell told him that yeah, the cold feeling was probably his blood. He pulled down his shirt sleeve to stare at something that would have terrified him even more if the memories of what the fuck just happened didn’t just rush back to him. Under the pink hum, it was more that apparent- a circle of teeth marks, sunk into his flesh. Oddly enough, there wasn’t a pool of blood underneath them, and despite being out for na hour, he hadn’t bled to death. It lingered around the bite, and what didn’t clung to his skin like it couldn’t leave. Still hurt like the fucking dickens, but at least he wasn't dead. The corporeal space that surrounded him seemed to have left the room.

Well, scratch that. Arata quickly noticed the red-blue sigils keeping something pinned to the ground, pikes keeping it bound to the floor. He’d have to definitely repay Bled for saving his ass, even if she was simultaneously the one who sort of endangered it. From the liquid pooled around the rampant black wisps around the figure, he could tell that this has the thing that oh so nicely tried to kill him. It was also definitely nothing that seemed like a familiar. The outlines were much more shapely once it couldn’t hide in the dark- and it presented it’s magical energy with no qualms. He’d assume what had consumed the room was actually a manifestation of its aura, one oppressive enough to keep him pinned. 

It breathed heavily, tiredly, with much pain in its voice. Bled’s charm must have held it there for an hour- he’s impressed how adept her spells have gotten. Holding something this powerful wasn’t easy, even with Arata’s decent power through his mantle. There’s another time to be awestruck, however. He was bleeding(?) on the floor of dorm, there was a demon tethered to the boards, and those motherfucking potions still weren’t done.

Arata Shoto is quite tired of strange bumps in his life.


End file.
